


Dimples and All

by Drowned_dreamer



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Baby!Killian, F/M, Fluff, au season 2, cs au week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drowned_dreamer/pseuds/Drowned_dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Set sometime during the last half of season 2 sometime after Hook leaves the hospital, but before Emma goes to New York with Gold.)  </p><p>In order to prevent Hook from going after Gold’s dagger, Cora turns Hook into a child.  An adorable little three-year-old child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dimples and All

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own OUAT
> 
> A/N- Yeah, so here’s my contribution for AU week. Don’t know what this is about, just some fluffy baby Killian cuteness, and Emma feels. Couldn’t resist. Enjoy and if you like it, please comment or kudo!

“Mother?” Regina asks warily, still not quite sure what to make of the admittedly adorable little three-year-old who is clinging onto her pant leg for dear life.

“What?” Cora replies. “You said you wanted children and he was getting annoying.”

“But…I have a child. Henry. And this isn’t a child. This is Hook.” The little boy in question raises his head at the name, but there doesn’t seem to be any real recognition in his wide blue eyes. Only fear.

Cora huffs, and rolls her eyes at her daughter. “Technically…”

Regina shakes her head, causing the little boy’s thumb to disengage from his mouth. He wraps his wet, chubby hand around her even tighter and does his best to hide from the older woman.   Regina absolutely does not feel the slightest bit of tenderness for him in the gesture. “Fine. He’s a child. But what are we going to do with him? I’m not watching him.”

“Toss him out on the street then, what are you worried about?” Cora waves her hand impatiently.

Regina might be a lot of things, but when it comes to children, ever since Henry, she’s not completely heartless. But Hook can’t stay here, not with Cora. Not with the way he’s already wiggling his way into her heart.   No. He needs someone who can look after him and keep him out of the way. Someone who likes children underfoot. Someone like…

She sighs and turns to her mother. “I’m taking him to the Sheriff’s station.   They can deal with him there.”

“If you must,” Cora replies.

Hook whimpers a little at the sharpness of the women’s voices, but Regina can’t afford to drop the cold act until she has him away from her mother. Grabbing the hand that isn’t in his mouth, she marches him to the door. Cora doesn’t even bother to look up from the papers she is studying, and Regina once more ignores the bad taste she has in her mouth whenever she spends time with her mother.

As they walk down the street, Regina softens a little, even swinging the boy’s hand in hers and talking to him about the weather. What else can she say? Clearly, he doesn’t have any of Hook’s old memories and it’s not like she wants to get to know the kid. Still, he’s a little lost child, not the infamous pirate captain and she can hardly fault him for his sins when he can’t even tie his shoes yet.

“Are you my mam?” Is the first thing he says to her.

She nears chokes on her own spit. “No!” She says far too hastily, and besides her the boy flinches. In an attempt to soften the blow, she adds, “I’m not your mother. She’s…not here. But I’m taking you to some very nice people who will look after you. Okay?”

He tilts his stormy blue eyes up at her and frowns. For a brief moment, she almost just forgets the whole thing and takes him back home. Henry would want a brother, right? Then she remembers exactly why that is such a bad idea. Her mother is there.

Henry is strong. He’s smart and talented. With Cora’s tutelage, he would make a fine king to rule this land someday. But this… _mini-Hook_ , he’s just a frightened little boy. And Cora would eat him alive. No. This is best.

Besides, it’s still _Hook_. And she just _can’t_.

“Okay,” he answers in a small, squeaky voice. Immediately, the thumb returns to his mouth as he glances back and forth across the streets of Storybrooke with wide-eyed wonder that only the very young possess. She tries not to think about Henry at that age. Tries, and fails.

When they arrive at the Sheriff’s station, there’s no one there. _Beautiful_. She huffs, wondering if just leaving the child here would make her a horrible person. After a few more minutes of debating, she comes to a decision.

“Come along, Hook.”

The little boy wrinkles his already thick black brows at the name. “Who’s Hook, Missus?”

“That’s y—“ she begins, then stops herself. Of course Hook wasn’t the name he was born with. For the life of her, though, she has no idea what his real name is.   “That’s your nickname,” she says lamely.   He waddles along after her across the street and in the direction of the Charming’s loft as fast as his chubby little legs can go. He’s still in black, but his clothes are softer now, cotton instead of leather, and his boots have been replaced by a soft suede sandal.

There’s a million questions on his face now, but thankfully, they arrive at the loft before she is forced to answer any of them. “We’re here.”

Hook looks up, eyes wide with awe at the two story brownstone, his thumb falling out of his open mouth. Okay. Remember the plan. Just knock and go, she reminds herself.  

He follows closely as they walk up the stairs; her--quick and distracted, him--huffing as he puts both feet on a step at a time before taking the next.   He’s even making little grunting noises, like the effort of taking the stairs has thoroughly taxed him.

Outside the Charmings’ door, she turns to the boy, unsure what to even say. “Just…” she starts, then can’t bring herself to finish. “Be a good boy,” she says at last, patting his head like a dog. She knocks loudly on the door three times, then disappears from the landing in a cloud of red smoke.

The door opens a minute later and Emma blinks, wondering if she’s still asleep and gawks, because, there’s a small kid outside her door with shaggy black hair, large blue eyes, and a black tunic over black pants, and suddenly the whole thing gives her the weirdest sense of déjà vu. “Um, can I help you?” She asks.

The boy nods and his eyes go even wider, while managing to look like he might break into tears at any moment. “I’m…lost.”

“Okay,” Emma says, realizing that she’s being horribly unfriendly, and lowers herself to the boy’s level. Now that she down here, she can see the way his cheeks are slightly pink and his boy is trembling ever so slightly. “Hey,” she says softly, reaching out a careful hand, “Hey, it’s okay. Come on, kid. Why don’t we get you some hot chocolate and you can tell me where you belong.”

He frowns, either because he doesn’t trust her or because he doesn’t understand, she can’t be sure. But he follows her into the loft, watching with his big (and weirdly familiar) blue eyes as she leads him to the kitchen.   She walks around the island, leaving him to hide under the counter top while she tries to find the cocoa powder Mary Margaret uses to make hot cocoa with and does her best not to stare at the kid.

For some reason, all that is going through her mind is the most randomly insane thought she could possibly have. One that makes her laugh at herself for even thinking it, because there’s just no way. There is no way Hook has a kid.

Slowly, the little boy starts to lose his fear and instead watches her in wonder as she heats up water in the microwave. “Wha’s that, missus lady?”

Oh, god. He’s even got the accent.

“It’s just a microwave. It cooks stuff and heats up water,” she answers.   What the hell is she even doing? This isn’t her? This is Mary Margaret’s territory. Or even David. She can’t look after a toddler. She just can’t…

He flashes her a grin at that and Emma can already feel herself melting at it. Just like his dad.

_Wait. No. Just. No._

She clears her throat, tearing away her gaze so that she can retrieve the heated water from the microwave. “So, kid. Why don’t you tell me your name? My name’s Emma.”

“Emma.” He says with a little giggle that absolutely _does not_ give her the warm fuzzies in her chest.

“Yep, that’s me,” she says with a shrug.

“I’m Killain,” he says proudly. Then he shakes his head like he remembers something. “Liam likes to call me Killy, though, but I don’t like it. I’m not Killy.”

The mug Emma was holding hits the floor with a loud crack and the boy flinches back, away from her.

 _Oh. Hell. No_. There has to be a mistake. This cannot be _the_ Killian. It has to be a joke. It was bad enough to think that Hook had a kid, but this? Maybe it’s a family name, maybe it’s…

“Missus Emma?” He asks so quietly, she almost doesn’t hear him over the racing of her own thoughts.

She forces herself to stop and objectively assess the situation. _Okay, Emma, let’s think about this like the competent professional adult you are.   Step one: Find out who this kid really is. Step two: Find his parents. Step three: Forget this whole thing ever happened._

“Yes?” She says, once more kneeling down, mindful of the shattered porcelain so that she can see if maybe there’s some details about this kid that she missed the first time. Black hair sticking up adorably in all directions, check. Unnaturally bright blue eyes, check. Eyebrows and dimples, check and mate.

_Shit._

“I’m sorry about your cuppa,” he says, and she has to shut her eyes, because he’s so timid and scared and so small and lost and…

“That’s okay, kiddo.” She can’t bring herself to call him by his name. Not now. Maybe not ever. “Not your fault I’m so clumsy. I’ll clean it up and get a new one for you.” She still refuses to believe that this little boy was her Hook. (No, not _her_ Hook. That was not what she meant.)

He nods and blinks, sticking his thumb in his mouth and she…

Clean. She needs to clean…

It takes her only a few minutes to clear away the remains of the mug and place a new one in the microwave. In the meantime, the kid has meandered away from the kitchen, his natural curiosity overcoming his fears.   Currently, he’s found a collection of Mary Margaret’s colored paper and pencils and is eying them like he’s dying to try them out but is worried he’ll get yelled at.

She bites her lip as she comes up behind him. “Do you want to color?”

He hesitates for a minute before nodding enthusiastically, the smile that stole her breath away back on his face. _God, that really should be illegal._

“Alright. Come over to the table and I’ll get you set up.”

He scrambles up onto a chair and eagerly awaits her bringing over the paper and pencils. “Thank you, Missus Emma,” he says politely when she deposits the materials in front of him. Not only is he the cutest toddler she’s ever seen, (Henry not included since she wasn’t present for those years and doesn’t that just sting like a bitch and is definitely not something she is going to think about now) but he’s also the most well-mannered.

“Why don’t you draw me a picture of your family?” She says in a moment of inspiration.

He beams and begins to scribble all over the page with almost every pencil in the box while she finishes up the cocoa. She finds a package of Oreos that Mary Margaret must have been trying to hide from David and grabs them as well. By the time she’s finished, so is he.

He holds up the paper proudly and she smiles at him. It’s a colorful mishmash of squiggles, but there’s nothing recognizable on it. Still, her smile lights up his eyes and she’d give anything to keep him looking at her like that.   However, just then he sees the food, and he’s grabbing at the cookies before she even sets them down.

“Hey, kiddo. Slow down. Too many cookies will spoil your dinner.”

Instantly, his eyes grow penitent and he places the cookies he had in his hand back into the bag as if he’s guilty of the worst crime in history. She chuckles, when she really wants to cry over how endearing he is. “It’s okay. You can still have them, just eat slower.” She slips the two cookies back out and slides them in front of him.  

“Thank you, Missus Emma.” He says, eyes impossibly bright again, as the black cookie crumbs fall from his mouth.

“You are very welcome,” she replies, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Before she can stop herself, she reaches over and ruffles his hair, pushing the black locks away from his forehead, tracing her thumb tenderly across his brow. He leans ever so slightly into the touch, like he hasn’t had anyone do that for him in a very long time (if ever).

Emma reluctantly pulls away and blinks rapidly.   She turns back to the drawing, her voice gone hoarse, “So, can you tell me who is in your picture?”

He nods, washing down the Oreos with a big swig of the cocoa, licking the whipped cream and cinnamon from his lips with a very satisfied sigh. He points to a random blob that maybe, if she squints, kind of looks like a person. “That’s Liam,” he says.

“Who’s Liam?” _Who is Liam?_ Hook never mentioned anyone by that name. Well, it wasn’t like they really talked about their families or anything while she was abandoning on the beanstalk and he was fighting with her at Lake Nostros. Still…

“My brother. He’s ten,” Killian says holding up all five (very messy) fingers on both hands.

She wipes his fingers down with a napkin and asks, “Okay. What about your mom and dad? Did you draw them?”

“No mama. She’s gone,” he says sadly, and her heart wrenches painfully because she _knows_. She knows that look. It’s the look that only loss can give.

“And your dad?” She prompts again.

He shrugs indifferently.   “Papa is on the boat.”

Alright, so that makes sense. Hook is a pirate and all. But why is this kid here? Does that mean Hook has had this kid on his ship the whole time he was in the hospital? Why didn’t he say anything?

“And where is your papa now?”

He shrugs again, little shoulders moving his whole body, and takes another sip of the cocoa. He closes his eyes like he’s relishing the taste, like he’s never had anything this good his whole life. “Dunno. Ask Liam.”

She frowns, again wondering who this brother of his is.   “Who takes care of you, then?”

“Liam does.” He yawns then, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Emma sweeps the hair back again, still unable to keep her hands off his soft little cheeks.   “Well, I guess we need to find Liam or your dad, then.”

She thinks rapidly as she watches the boy doodle little lines across the page.   Hook couldn’t have gotten far. He’d only just been released from the hospital, after all. (No thanks to her parents--yep, still weird to call them that—who subsequently lost him after the giant was released.) When little Killian begins visibly sag in the chair, she knows it’s his naptime. As she stands up from her own chair, he stretches out his arms to her like he wants her to pick him up. Her heart does not race and her breath does not leave in great gulps at the sight of his eager eyes or his small thin fingers extending up towards her.   Even though she knows she shouldn’t, she bends down and scoops him into her arms.

He smells like chocolate and seawater and feels warm and he feels _oh so right_ safely tucked up under her chin. At this point, he’s so tired, he’s practically falling asleep on her shoulder and before she can even make it over to the couch with a blanket to cover him up with, he’s out.

She collapses down beside him, pulling up the blanket around his arms and brushing back his hair again. As she does, she’s drawn to a small little scar on his cheek, and her finger begins to tremble as she traces over it. She knows that scar. She’s seen it before, wondered about it, how it came to be.

And suddenly, the room is spinning, and there’s not enough air, and...

Mary Margaret finds her there, no more than ten minutes later, when she arrives back at the loft with Henry and David in tow.   “Emma!” She calls out at the sight of Emma’s sprawled out body on the living room floor, rushing instantly to her side.

“I’m fine,” Emma says, pushing Mary Margaret away and getting to her feet slowly. Her eyes dart over to the still sleeping form under the blankets to make sure the noise hasn’t woken him.

Mary Margaret notices the movement and gasps at the sight. “Who’s that?” She whispers.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Emma? What happened?” Mary Margaret asks, leading her back away from the sleeping young boy so as not to bother him.

Emma laughs, sounding sort of hysterical before bringing it under control.   Henry and David have finished unloading the groceries and are now finding their way to the living room as well, and she might as well just tell them all at once because really…

“It’s Hook.”

Mary Margaret opens then closes her mouth, looking from her to the boy under the covers. “What do you mean? Is that Hook’s kid?”

“No,” Emma states with a firm shake of her head. She glances quickly at her son, because she needs him at that moment, and he gives her his patented ‘Henry stare’ that tells her he believes in her and she somehow finds the strength she needs. “That’s what I thought, too. But that’s not his kid. That’s _him_.”

“I don’t….” Mary Margaret trails off, frowning. She sucks in a breath and then says, “How? Why?”

“There was a knock at the door and there he was. Looking just like that,” Emma motions to the sofa.

“Does he know who he is?” David asks warily.

She shakes her head again. “No. He says his name is Killian. Says he has a brother Liam. And that’s about all he’s told me.”

“A brother?” Henry asks, with a curiously excited look in his eyes.

Emma is too busy being flustered to share in his excitement. “Yeah, I know.”

Henry walks closer to the sleeping boy. She can see the way he puffs out his cheeks when he exhales from across the room and she has to look away.   When he rejoins them, Henry looks at his family and asks, “What are we going to do? We can’t just leave him like that.”

Emma sighs, “Henry...I don’t think it’s that easy. For one, I have no idea how he got like that, or how to get him back. Two, he’s a villain.” Before she can stop herself, the thoughts that had been playing around in her head for the last few minutes escaped, “Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t go back to his old self.”

Henry’s mouth drops open like he’s completely appalled by the idea. “Mom, no! It’s wrong. You can’t just leave Captain Hook as a little kid.”

She sags into a chair and sighs. “Fine. Any ideas then?” Emma looks to both of her parents.

Mary Margaret bites her lip, and turns to David, “What about Blue? She does this sort of thing, right? I mean, she helped August.”

David merely shrugs. “Uh, yeah, I guess that could work.” Quickly, he adds, “Actually, I’ll go. You stay here.”

Emma nods appreciatively and stands once more. “Thanks David.”

When he is gone, Emma goes back over to the sleeping boy and begins to stroke his hair gently, not even realizing she’s doing it until her mother comes up next to her and says, “What’s he like? Killian, I mean?”

She knows the true answer, but she can’t give it. She can barely even admit it to herself, much less her mother.   Instead, she says, “He’s… just a scared little boy. He’s…”

_Just like me._

The moment is broken, when Mary Margaret exclaims, “Oh! He’s waking up.”

The boy wiggles under his blanket until he can free a hand to wipe his eyes. He sits up and takes one look at the presence of two new people until he finds her. “Missus Emma?” With that one look, Emma can read him just as easily as he could read her.   He wants reassurance that everything is okay, that no one will hurt him. He wants Emma to pick him up and hold him and tell him he’s precious.

Suddenly, his words to her on the beanstalk come back to her with perfect clarity.

_“The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”_

Instead, she sits down on the edge of the sofa and gently helps him sit up. “Hey there, kiddo. You sleep well? I’m sorry if we woke you up.”

He scoots over on the couch until he’s all but sitting on her lap. “Who’s that?” He asks in a whisper, eyes tracking Henry’s movements into the room.  

She turns and smiles over her shoulder. “This? This is my son, Henry, and my…mother, Mary Margaret.”

The woman in question takes a seat on the other side of the boy and holds out her hand. “Hello, Killian.”

He glances at it like he’s afraid it will bite and instead goes back to whispering his secrets into Emma’s ear. “Can I have more cookies, Missus Emma?”

“Oh. Um…” She falters, wanting to give the boy anything and everything he asks for.

(Wanting to give him the world.)

Mary Margaret smiles and pats him on the arm and the moment is broken.   “I’m making dinner, Killian. What would you like to eat?”

At the mention of food he whips his head around like he can’t believe he heard her correctly. Timidly, he states, “I like potatoes. Liam makes them sometimes.”

Mary Margaret looks up and Emma and she sees the same softness in her eyes that she knows is in her own. She knows her mother has to be thinking the same thoughts about why his older brother is the one in charge of his dinner, and why potatoes are his favorite food (But her mother doesn’t really understand like she does what it’s like to know hunger, to know what’s it’s like to not be sure if you are going to eat that day or not, or whether you’ll ever taste your favorite foods again).

“How about potatoes and some chicken. Do you like chicken?” Mary Margaret says instead.

His eyes grow big and he nods rapidly.   “Aye, Missus. Thank you.”

She smiles down at him, the school teacher in her coming out. “You are a very nice young man. How old are you.”

“Three,” he answers quickly, holding up four, then three fingers.

“Whoa, that’s old!” Mary Margaret teases, she looks over at the table and sees her art supplies lying out. “I see you like to draw. Can you draw me a picture?”

“Can I draw a boat?” He asks hesitantly, like she might say no.

She takes his hand, leading the little boy away from a still stunned Emma and back to the table. “Of course, honey. You can draw anything you want. Maybe later, Henry can play a game with you. Would you like that?”

“Aye!” He exclaims, taking Henry’s hand in his own and forcing him to help him into a chair. Henry just can’t stop smiling at the whole situation and quickly falls into playing along with him.

Emma jumps when her mother places a hand on her head, not even aware that she was close by.

“Emma—“

She shakes her head, pushing herself up off the sofa while holding onto her arms, as if trying to recreate the way the child felt in her arms.   “I know. He’s just so…cute.” There’s a million things Killian is, but that what she settles on. It feels grossly inadequate.

Mary Margaret chuckles.   “I never thought I’d think of Hook as cute, but you’re right. He’s adorable. It really makes you wonder how he could have gone from such a sweet little boy to a ruthless pirate.”

So softly, she hopes her mother won’t hear, she mutters, “I don’t have to wonder, I know.”

It seems nothing gets past Mary Margaret, and she squeezes her arm reassuringly.   “Oh, Emma.”

Before Emma can rip her arm away and run back to her bedroom, she is saved by the sound of the door opening. “We’re back!” David calls out, striding in with a wary-looking Mother Superior following behind.

Mary Margaret rushes over, escorting the woman into the room hastily.   “Blue, come in! We need your help.”

Blue turns up her nose and looks over at the two boys busy playing some sort of tick-tack-toe game on the paper.   “I can see that. Is that…Hook?”

Emma sighs. “Yeah. That’s him. Dimples and all.”

Blue nods and turns to her parents.   “I sense that this was the work of Cora. Her magic is all over him.”

David gets a weird look of anger on his face and replies, “Makes sense. He was working with her. He probably couldn’t keep his hand to himself and she gave him what he deserved.”

Emma grits her teeth, biting back the words she wants to fling at her father because truthfully, she can’t really blame him for feeling that way. Hell, she’s had the same thoughts about Hook. But this wasn’t about Hook. This was about Killian.   “Can you get him back? Can you reverse it?”

Blue gives her a reluctant nod. “Maybe. This is a tricky spell. He seems quite happy like this, though. Are you sure about this?”

Emma sees Henry look up at that and feels her heart grow stronger. “Yeah. It’s the right thing to do.”

“I suppose it is,” the fairy agrees. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do.”

Mary Margaret and David busy themselves in the kitchen while Blue and Emma make ready for the spell. When the fairy is ready, she nods and tells Emma to retrieve the boy.

“Hoo—Killian, can you come here for a minute?” Emma calls out.

Immediately, he scrambles down from the chair and comes to her side. “What is it, Missus Emma?”

Like they did when they first met, Emma kneels down next to him so that they are at eye level. With a sad smile, she nods her head up at the nun and says to him, “I want you to meet a friend of mine. Her name is Blue.”

Killian looks up and smiles, already so much more at ease and happy than when he arrived just a few hours before. “Hello, Missus Blue.” He pulls Emma’s face closer to him with both hands and looks her in the eye. She stops breathing because for a second, there is something so very Hook-like in the gesture. In a whisper, he says, “I like you’re friends. They’re nice.”

“She’s…” Emma stammers, tears springing to her eyes from nowhere because she didn’t know this was going to be so hard. “I can’t do it…” She says, trying to ignore the confused look on the boy’s face as she glares at the fairy.

Mary Margaret, who of course had been eavesdropping this whole time in the kitchen, comes rushing over.   “Emma?”

She stands, leaving a worried looking little boy clinging to her shin. “He’s got a chance to be happy like this. Don’t you see? We could give him a second chance.”

Mary Margaret looks appalled at the suggestion for a moment, then her face softens into that motherly understanding that Emma’s not yet sure she likes.   “What are you saying?”

She rolls her eyes, looking anywhere but at the lonely little boy, at her mother, or her son. “I…I don’t know, maybe…he could stay here, with me… and Henry…and I could…”

Her mother sighs and pulls her into a hug, even though Emma is tense and doesn’t hug back. “Oh, Emma. I know what you’re trying to do. You want to give him the chance at the life you never got to have. But he’s not really a boy, Emma. He’s had a life, for good or ill, and it’s not fair of you to rob him of that.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to go back? What if this is what he wants?” And what she’s really asking is not about him, it’s about her, but her mother doesn’t know that.

Frowning, Mary Margaret shrugs and says. “Have you tried asking him?”

Emma scoffs and rolls her eyes. “He’s three, he can’t make a decision like that. He thinks Hook is a silly nickname.”

“It is a silly nickname,” Mary Margaret agrees.

Emma pulls away, finally allowing herself to look at the little lost boy at her feet.   “I can’t condemn a kid to a life of hardship and evil. I can’t.”

“I know, honey. I know. But are you really willing to make Hook disappear?”

Could she? Mary Margaret was right. If she kept Killian as a child, Hook would be gone. Forever. No more stupid, flirty innuendos, no more secret smiles and smug looks, no more reading her like an open book.

She shakes from head to toe, but she knows the answer that is in her heart. “No, I’m not.”

“Killian,” Emma says, picking him up in her arms one last time. He throws his arms around her neck and she buries herself into his hair, taking in that warm baby scent of him that she knows she’ll never get back.   “I’m sorry. I want you to know that this wasn’t easy for me. But I think Mar—my mom--is right. As infuriating as you are, I don’t want you any other way than as the same man I met in the Enchanted Forest. I will miss you like this, though, Killian.”

She knows he doesn’t have a clue as to what she’s talking about, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not about him, anyway. Not really.

“Emma?” He asks in a voice so tiny and frightened, it shatters what’s left of her broken heart.

She manages a smile just for him, to put him at ease, as she puts him back on the ground. “It’s okay, Killian. I won’t let go of your hand,” Emma states, squeezing his little fingers in hers as he continues to stare up at her in wonder.

Blue pulls out a long, wooden wand from her cloak and waves it close to the boy’s head.  As she does, the tip glows blue. “Close your eyes, Killian. I want you to picture what you’d like to be when you grow up. Can you do that?”

“Good. Now, keep picturing it.” Blue turns to her and gives her a strangely knowing glare. “Emma? You, too. Picture the man you know. Picture Hook.”

Emma squeezes her eyes tight, but even so, the warm glow of magic penetrates behind her eyelids and washes her in a flood of light. She can feel a tingling in her fingers where they are touching his, but doesn’t know what it means.

The light grows brighter, almost too bright, and then, nothing.   Suddenly, she hears a deep, familiar, and beautifully angry voice say, “Oh, bloody hell!”

Her eyes fly open to see the pirate in all his one-handed, black-leather glory standing right beside her. Still holding her hand. “Hook!” She shouts happily before remembering herself and letting go of his hand. For some reason, her fingers feel cold and she tucks them into her jeans pockets to warm them up.

He doesn’t seem to notice her actions, as he looks wildly around the loft at her parents, Henry and Blue. “What the bloody hell am I doing here?”

“It worked!” Henry laughs, looking up at her with his own proud smile. Just like that, the heaviness falls from her heart, and all the agony of her decision suddenly feels worth it.

“What worked?” Hook growls, staring down David and Mary Margaret with something akin to loathing. “Someone want to explain why everyone is staring at me like they’ve just seen a ghost, or am I really that devilishly handsome that you all can’t take your eyes off me?” Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, and pulls Henry with her into the kitchen to finish their dinner.

“And he’s back,” David groans, throwing his hands up and following his wife into the kitchen. Clearly, Hook is her problem now.

Emma looks around, finding herself alone with only Hook for company. She expects him to start badgering her with slick innuendoes at any second, but instead, he stares at her, frowning.   “Swan? Are you alright, love? Surely you haven’t been worried about me,” he adds with a smirk that is more hopeful than it should be.

“No, why would I be worried about you?” She huffs, crossing her arms defiantly.

He sidles up next to her, tilting his head and watching her with an unreadable expression. “Indeed. Why would you?” And before she can step back, he cups her cheek lightly, and without saying another word, wipes away the dampness on her cheek.


End file.
